Prologue
London, England
April, 1816
“Kiss me,” she said rather breathlessly.
Her fiancé, Stuart Eglin, backed hastily away from her, a look of abject terror on his face.
Lady Jenna Wycliffe pursed her lips and thrust her face forward. The moment she had planned had come. After dancing her third set, she’d asked Stuart to escort her out onto the terrace to take some air. She had to know. Had to reassure herself that marriage to Stuart was not going to be the pit of despair she suspected.
He glanced frantically around and back toward the French windows leading into the ballroom. “Someone willseeus!”
She relaxed her pose and gazed balefully at him. “What can they do, force us to marry?” she asked dryly.
“That’s hardly amusing.”
“No one will see us if we hurry,” she prompted. “It’s not the height of scandal for a man to kiss the woman he’s been engaged to for years. More than one couple has stolen a kiss in the gardens.”
Glancing quickly back toward the ballroom, she stepped forward again, closing the distance between her and Stuart. She could forget the hopeless vanity he displayed. The ridiculous clothing. The exaggerated airs. If only he inspired passion in her, she could find a way to make the best of their marriage. And she would only find out if he kissed her.
“Please,” she said softly.
He sighed deeply, a pained look crossing his face. “Very well. But just this once.”
She nearly laughed. Surely he didn’t plan for this to be their only kiss. Perhaps he meant before their marriage.
Clenching her fists at her side, she waited. He pinched his lips together in a remarkable likeness to the trout her father so loved to catch. Then, squenching his eyes closed, he lowered his head to hers. Just before his lips made contact with hers, she closed her eyes and awaited the sparks and euphoria she had heard described in the ladies’ circles with such great detail.
Clammy, wet lips brushed over hers nearly causing her to recoil. Then just as quickly they withdrew. Slowly, she opened her eyes to see Stuart fidgeting in front of her like a prisoner awaiting his execution. Was that it?
Disappointment knifed cleanly through her. Her worst fears had been realized. Trying desperately to recover her wits and hide her mounting dismay, she managed a shaky smile. “Now, was that so bad?”
“Jenna, you should return at once to the ballroom.” Her brother’s disapproving voice reached her ears.
She whirled around to see Sebastian standing at the French windows. Smoothing her skirts and thankful he hadn’t witnessed the debacle of her first kiss—or had he?—she hurried back inside. Taking her brother’s arm, they walked back into the crowded interior, Stuart lagging behind.
“What were you doing?” Sebastian demanded.
“I was feeling a bit lightheaded so I asked Stuart to escort me out for some air.”
The lie sounded flimsy even to her own ears since she had never had an attack of the vapors in her life, but if he discounted her explanation he didn’t let on.
“Are you unwell? Should I call for our carriage?”
She shook her head. “I’m quite all right. Let’s find Quinn. He promised to dance with me.”
Sebastian chuckled. “Last time I saw Quinn he was avoiding a group of giggling debutantes.”
“Then I’ll not likely find him anytime soon,” she said with a grin. “I suppose you’ll have to do.”
He sighed. “The things I do for you, sister mine.”
As he led her onto the floor where the other couples were dancing, she allowed the experience with Stuart to sink in. Humiliation had settled deep into her stomach to the point of making her nauseous.
Not only did her fiancé instill about as much passion in her as the trout he resembled, he obviously felt nothing for her either, evident by the amount of time he spent avoiding her. Her cold, lifeless marriage stretched before her like an eternal prison sentence.
A prickle at the nape of her neck shook her from the misery she was slowly sinking further into. A quick glance at the many ladies lining the sides of the ballroom told herhewas here. Fans popped up and began waving frantically as if the temperature had suddenly risen to impossible heights. Excited glints shown in previously bored eyes. Buzzing chatter rose above the strains of the orchestra.
